Before I Forget
by Failure Turtle
Summary: You may not mean what you say at the time. A Matt-support fic. One shot.


**A/N: I hate Matt Hardy. But he's the heel in this scenario, therefore, I support him. And because I don't like Jeff, either. But hey, any excuse for a new story is a good one…And it gives me an excuse to make fun of kids who use text-type for everything.**

**Britt, I'm sorry that it's not exactly long. The first few paragraphs were sitting here for a few days (since I spoke to you) without anything getting finished. Writer's block to the max on this one.**

_Matthew Moore Hardy  
9/23/74 – 2/26/09  
A Cruel Twist of Fate_

He had gotten what he had deserved, hadn't he? All of those Myspace messages had wished this upon him.

_Go and die, Matt!  
U SUCK!!!  
I H8 U HOW COULD U DO THAT 2 JEFF?  
GO TO HELL!_

The name etched in stone held a bit of irony to its owner. Yes, Matt was the older brother. Older people die first, right? But that wasn't the case. Everyone thought that _Jeff_ would be the one to finally break down and have his life give up on him way before Matt's did. Matt was the level headed brother. Jeff was the spitfire renegade, risking his life more and more with each breath he took.

Every day spent above ground is a good day. If only Matt had learned that sooner, then maybe he wouldn't have slipped into depression in only one night.

But he didn't kill himself. No, Matt Hardy would _never_ do that. The haters got their wish. He got in a car accident on the way back to the hotel from the RAW and ECW tapings the next day. It was a quick death. It was a painless one, as well. He deserved at least that much if he was going to die. He didn't need to suffer more than he already had over the past two nights.

After all, he did _want_ to hit Jeff with the chair. Not at all. He would have rather sold his soul to the Devil. He would have rather taken repeated conchairtos from Edge. He would have rather re-lived the whole Amy fiasco.

Soft footsteps approached the grave, crunching the fallen leaves mixed with the frost that had appeared overnight in the slightly warming weather. A tattoo covered arm reached out and wiped the small amount of frost off of the top of the headstone. The owner of the arm kneeled down and rested his head against the cold marble, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I am so sorry, Matt. I miss you, bro."

Jeff's breathing slowed down as a silent tear fell from his green eyes. He wanted to blame himself. The last time he spoke with Matt, it was right as he was leaving the arena before the accident. Matt had called him to tell him that he was coming over to apologize, that it wasn't Jeff's fault. He was sorry.

And it's not like Matt _wanted_ to hit Jeff with the chair and cost him his first major title reign. It was something he was fully against, but he had to do it. It was his job. And Jeff swore that he understood completely, even if he was a bit heartbroken about his title being dropped to Edge. It was a childhood dream for the both of him, and Matt in no way wanted to take that away from his baby brother. The slammed doors after the incident were proof, and the fact that he left without saying a word to anybody.

Half of Jeff was upset at the storyline, and the other half of him only saw it as fair. One Hardy loses his title, both Hardys lose their titles. Enemies on TV, but brothers at heart, body, and soul. One goes down, so they both go down.

But not like this.

How long did Jeff stay there? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Years? A century could have passed and he wouldn't have known, nor would he have cared. As far as he was concerned, his life was over. Matt was dead, along with Jeff's spirit.

A shaking hand reached behind Jeff's neck and unclasped his silver Hardy Boyz necklace that he had seldom taken off over the years. He held it in both hands as if it was a priceless piece of glass that he was afraid of breaking. He found a spot in between the numerous bouquets of dying flowers that couldn't survive the cold.

Jeff shook his head. He was sure that the flower donors had good intentions. In the back of his mind, Jeff secretly thought that everyone was one of his brother's haters that had wished this exact thing on him. But aren't flowers a bit of an ironic thing to put on a grave? They're going to die, as well. What are they supposed to do? Die and make the dead person feel better?

Jeff gently placed the pendant down on the ground, keeping it as close to the gravestone as possible. He stood up, taking a deep breath and turning away from his brother's final resting place.

"Thank you…Matt."


End file.
